


Wizard and the Wolf

by secondstar



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Magic, Barebacking, Blood Magic, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, brief mention of past dub con/non con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 16:52:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondstar/pseuds/secondstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magic always comes at a cost, at a price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wizard and the Wolf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> * brief mentions of Derek's past with Kate Argent (which was non-con/dub-con) happen, but nothing specific is said. 
> 
> * Stiles' magic is inspired by Howl's Moving Castle. 
> 
> * thanks to my betas bk, lauren, beth, and mel! you guys are the best! 
> 
> * written for the sc auction, based off of reborngp's work 'If I lose myself' verse.
> 
> date: please do not REPOST this fic anywhere else without my consent. Please do not put it on GoodReads that is a site for PUBLISHED works, not fic.

Derek liked being sent into town to buy his family’s monthly elixir from the wizard’s shop. Town was where the bakery was that sold his favorite sweet buns, like nothing his mother could ever create for him. The smell of it was enough to make his mouth water as he followed his older sister, Laura, along the cobblestone street. He was in charge of holding onto his little sister’s hand as they made their way through the busy marketplace. Laura stopped at a cart with ribbons on display, which made Derek sigh with boredom as Cora played with them, running her tiny hands over the different colored ribbons before they were off again. 

The wizard’s shop was nothing like Derek had ever seen anywhere else, full of bottles of every size that contained things of his wildest dreams. There were knickknacks that filled the shop, leaving barely enough room to move around. It was organized in a way that only the wizard himself could understand. As soon as Derek and his siblings walked into the shop, a chime sounded just above the door. Derek watched as it twirled and sparkled. 

The wizard’s shop felt safe, like a haven that they were always welcome in. The wizard himself appeared by the counter within the blink of an eye with his shirt sleeves rolled up and his vest unbuttoned. Usually, he was more pristine with gloves and a hat, but Derek liked him like this more. 

“Running late today?” He asked Laura as his eyes fell to Derek, his mouth twitching as if he were hiding a secret. 

“We were meant to come earlier, but we were held up on the main road,” Laura said as she shifted the basket she was carrying with her so that she could open it to reveal apples that the Hale farm grew. 

“And how long does it take you to get back to the farm?” He asked them. Derek frowned, looking out the old glass window that faced the setting sun. 

“We have time,” Derek assured him. “We’ll make it.” The wizard’s mouth turned downwards as he exchanged elixir for the apples, along with two silver pieces.

“Take yours now, just in case,” he said as he put his hands on his hips after putting the apples on the counter beside him. The three of them, Derek, Laura, and Cora, all exchanged looks then nodded. He didn’t want the change to come, didn’t want to scare anyone with his moon form, so he reached out for the elixir, taking it from Laura’s hand. He opened it, letting go of Cora’s hand for the first time since they left the farm, and put the stopper up to his mouth, letting two drops onto his tongue. Derek grimaced at the taste, metallic like blood, as he handed it to Laura who gave Cora her dosage before her own. 

The wizard was watching Derek, his eyes narrowed and head tilted to one side. “Don’t take the main road back,” he told them. “Since it gave you trouble on the way here.” 

“Alright,” Laura said as she shook out the awful taste in her mouth. 

“Can we see the magic?” Cora asked, her hand back in Derek’s once more. She was jumping up and down, her hair lifting in the air as she did so. 

“Cora, you can’t ask that,” Derek chided, even though he really wanted to see some as well. The wizard bent down so that he was eye level with Cora, then held out his bare hand. As Derek watched it intently, he couldn’t help but take a small step back as gold smoke wisped out of the hand before him. Instead of falling to the ground, it lifted into the air and swirled around them, much to the joy of Cora who squealed with delight. The shimmery, gold smoke formed into the shape of a wolf above their heads, its own head tilted upward as if it were howling at the silvery moon. Laura clapped, and Derek beamed. 

The wizard snapped his fingers, and suddenly the wolf was gone, as if the room hadn’t just been glowing with its presence. 

“Time to leave,” he told them, his mouth set in a frown. Derek gulped at the way the wizard looked at him. It left him with a chill running down his back as he followed Laura into the street. With one last look at the wizard’s shop, Derek stumbled on the cobblestones. 

“Let’s hurry, it’s getting late,” Laura said ahead of him, her pace quickening. She had the elixir safe in her basket as they ran down the streets and onto the dirt path that led into the woods instead of the main road. Derek picked up Cora so she wouldn’t fall over roots and the uneven pathway. 

At the edge of the woods, Laura stopped dead in her tracks without warning. Derek ran into her, falling to the ground with Cora in his arms. 

“Why did you stop?” Derek asked. His mother would be angry that he dirtied his clothes along with Cora’s new dress. 

“Smoke,” Laura whispered. Derek got to his feet, his eyes wide as he saw the same billow of smoke that Laura did. His gut sank when he realized what it was: their farm was on fire. 

Derek handed Cora to Laura, then ran towards their home. The house was ablaze as the sunset behind the horizon. 

“Derek, don’t go in there!” Laura called out as Derek ran up the steps. Derek collided into an invisible barrier, which made him rebound backward, landing on his back. He tried again, his hands pressing against the unseen wall. It was hot as the flames licked his skin. He hissed, stepping back enough to where he wouldn’t get burned. He could hear screams coming from inside the house; his family’s screams. 

“What the-” Derek said, his voice trembling as he looked down to the ground where he saw a line of dark dirt. It was impassable by him and he knew that only a wizard could do such things, and the only wizard he knew was the one that owned the shop. His family were dying because of a wizard’s magic.

Cora was crying, her cheeks stained with tears and ash. Laura tried to calm her down as she cried herself. The fire would spread to the crops soon enough, Derek knew, and there would be no stopping it. 

“We have to go,” Derek told his sister after they watched their house burn for what felt like ages, unmoving. He didn’t want to go, but knew there was no use staying. “To the shed in the woods.” Laura nodded her head as she sniffed back her emotions, then set off back the way they came. The shed was where their father stored extra tools and supplies, well out of the way of the normal passerby. 

Once they got to the shed, Derek told them to stay put. 

“What? Why? Where are you going?” Laura asked him, distressed at the thought of Derek going out on his own. 

“Someone put that magic dust down,” Derek told her. “I only know of one wizard.”

“He was at his shop, Derek, Stiles is a good wizard-”

“He’s to blame!” Derek screamed, his fists clenched in anger. “I have to find him.”

“You’ll get yourself killed!” Laura called out as Derek ran back towards the town, wiping his tears with his dirtied jacket sleeve. It was all the wizard’s fault. 

By the time Derek got to the town, the lamps were lit, the sun long since gone. Shadows danced across the buildings from the moon and the street as the crowd thinned. Derek held his arms close as the wind picked up. As he breathed, he began to see it appear as the temperature dropped with the disappearance of the sun. When the wizard’s shop came into view, Derek’s jaw dropped. The building was dark, the windows cloudy with soot and dirt, the lamp by the door unlit, its glass broken. 

Derek ran to the door, pounding on it and jiggling the doorknob. 

“Wizard Stilinski! Wizard Stilinski, open up!” Derek called out, tears welling up in his eyes with his desperation. When there was no answer, Derek moved to look into the window, rubbing his jacket against it to clean it enough to see inside. 

There was nothing there, only emptiness. No baubles, no vials filled with liquids and different things. Nothing. Derek ran back to the door, pounding on it some more until he was wrenched from the door by a constable. 

“Son, what are you doing?” He asked with a hand firm on Derek’s shoulder. Derek looked up at the man, wishing he hadn’t taken the elixir that not only kept his wolf form at bay but dulled his senses. He felt betrayed by Stiles, who gave him the bottled weakness, who had vials of powders and mixtures unknown. If it weren’t for him, his family would still be alive. 

“The Wizard Stilinski, I need him,” Derek said, looking at the darkened, abandoned building. 

“There is no one here by that name,” the constable said, following Derek’s eyes. “This is a condemned building. You best get home to your family.” At the mention of his family, Derek broke into open sobs. They were dead, there was nowhere to go. 

“I have no place to go,” Derek confessed. “My family’s been burnt alive.” 

The constable looked around, then ushered Derek towards the station. Derek sat there and explained what happened, who his family was, and where his sisters were. He didn’t know what else he could have done. They were alone now, he and his sisters. With no grown-ups to guide them, to protect them. 

\- 

Ten Years Later

“Get him while he’s down!”

“Kick him!”

“Make him bleed!” 

The crowd was rowdy for a midday fight in the depths of the town. The dirty undergrowth was dank and eerie, but was all that Derek knew. He kneed his opponent, then boxed him on both ears, sending him to the ground. With a final knee to the mouth, he broke his opponent’s jaw, ending the fight. Derek spat blood from the busted lip he got earlier in the fight. There was a mixture of cheering along with boos as he walked out of the makeshift ring. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sweaty hand as he pushed his way to the bookie where he could collect his earnings from the fight. 

Begrudgingly, he was handed wadded up notes with a sneer. Derek showed the bookie his bloodied mouth, giving him a feral smile. Out of the corner of his eye, Derek swore he saw a wisp of shimmery smoke, but when he turned his head to get a better look, all he saw was tendrils of smoke coming up from the crowd from their cigars and cigarettes that filled the enclosed space. It was already hazy, and it was probably a trick of the eye. Derek's jaw clenched as he thought about Wizard Stilinski. 

He walked outside, the cold air of winter hitting him as the falling snow landed in his hair. With only a bloody linen shirt covering his arms, he crossed them for warmth as he made his way into the woods that surrounded the town. When he got to the dilapidated shed that once belonged to his family, he stuffed his money into a jar that he kept hidden. The shed itself was small, with a stuffed mattress for a bed, and an old lantern for the only light. Derek was alone and had been for a long, long time. 

His sisters were taken from him by the state, put to work in a mill house. Derek lived on the streets, forging for himself. He saved every bit of coin he did to get them out. He starved so that he could save them, so they could live a better life. Laura, who had been going to school before the fire, became a tutor. She lived with a family up on the hill, now, her hair always done up in the new styles while she wore nice dresses. Cora, though, was missing. Derek was saving his money to hire a private investigator to try to find her, but they were very expensive. It would take him time to be able to afford one. 

Derek saw Laura around town, sometimes, with her charges. He left her alone, watched her from a distance. He didn't want to stain her life with his filthy hands. Derek had done a lot of things that he regretted doing, in trying to save his sisters from the life of the mill. Seeing Laura smile, surrounded by happy children, Derek believed what he did had been worth it. 

Getting blood out of linen was not easy, not when all you had was a bar of soap and a bucket of cold water. The lantern barely gave off any heat, and Derek's hands were trembling with cold as he scrubbed at his shirt. He should have gone barechested, but it had been too cold, and if he had put his shirt down it would have been taken. 

Derek slept with the lantern close, just for warmth. 

The next day was warmer, luckily, with none of the flurries from the night before sticking to the ground. The sun warmed Derek's back as he walked through town. He had on his cap, his ears tucked in it to keep them warm, along with a scarf Laura had knitted him when she first got out of the mill house. His jacket elbows were darned, twice, with patches of different fabric. One of his boots squeaked as he walked, and his pants were threadbare at the knee. He had lost his fingerless gloves after a fight, so he kept his hands shoved up under his arms to keep them warm. The full moon was close, and Derek could feel it's lure with every step he took. He worried about Cora the most when the moon was full, wondering if she was alive or not, able to control the shift enough. Laura, he knew, found a supplier of the elixir they took as children. 

He hadn't taken it since the fire, having no one to buy it for him. It was expensive and would cost him a month's worth of food. The wizard had given it to his family for a fraction of its worth, that much Derek knew. There had been a traveling wizard, with a cart of bottles that looked the same as Derek once saw in the shop. He found the elixir on one of the shelves, his eyes widening at the price written in calligraphy just below its name. The wizard who owned the cart shooed Derek away, calling him a scoundrel and wasterat. Derek was sure he looked the part, covered in dirt and grime from living on the streets alone at the age of thirteen. 

Now, Derek walked the busy streets all day, bumping into random people slyly, his fingers dipping into pockets and around necks. He was a pickpocket, and a damn good one at that. As he pilfered a man's wallet, he looked up across the street to see a familiar man with a top hat and cane, standing there, staring at him. Without thinking, Derek crossed the street, disturbing the carriages and horses that drew them. 

When he got to the very spot he had seen the wizard, there was no one there. Derek craned his neck, searching the passersby, trying to find him. His gaze fell to the ground in exasperation, only to inhale in surprise. There, hanging in the air just at Derek's feet, a thin tendril of shimmering smoke. There was a trail of it, weaving in and around the crowd. Derek looked at the people around him, wondering if they, too, saw the gold smoke. He found himself following it, pushing past everyone who was headed in the opposite direction as he. Derek stopped dead in his tracks when he turned a corner and saw where the trail was leading. 

The wizard's shop was there with the door open, the windows clean and the very same chime visible from when Derek was a child. He could see from across the way that there were knickknacks and bottles lining the shop window, and Derek swore he could smell apples. 

When Derek entered the shop, he couldn't believe his eyes. It looked the same as before, back when his life wasn't full of regret and desperation. The chime sounded above his head as he entered, echoing to him a life once lived. His chest tightened when a familiar form stood with their back facing him behind the counter. Derek's eyes flicked to the umbrella rack, where the cane he saw in a flash resting, untouched. 

"How can you be here?" Derek asked, his voice dripping with disdain as he took another step forward. The wizard turned around to reveal his face, the same as it was all those years ago, unchanging. He didn't look a day older than he had, while Derek had aged immeasurably. 

"Derek," Stiles Stilinski said with pursed lips. "I was wondering when you'd show up at my door." Derek's fists clenched as Stiles looked him over. "You look a little worse for wear." 

"Explain yourself," Derek urged. Stiles lifted an eyebrow as he leaned on the countertop before him. 

"I will not," Stiles said with a tilt of his head. 

"How is it possible that you are here? Back in this place? It was abandoned." 

"It was never abandoned," Stiles said, wide-eyed. "I have been here the entire time."

"You have not!" Derek shouted. "I came back here, after... after-"

"After the fire," Stiles said, his voice quiet. Derek's brow furrowed as he rushed forward, stopping at the edge of the counter where Stiles stood smirking. "You cannot touch me, wolf."

"You killed my family," Derek hissed. He could feel his eyes flashing blue, relished the look of fear in Stiles' own eyes. 

"I did no such thing," Stiles admitted, his voice resilient. 

"You left us here alone," Derek said, moving to one of the arrangements of baubles on a table. 

"Derek, don't-" Stiles said just as Derek thrashed across it, knocking the carefully placed tower of trinkets to the ground, breaking them. With his chest heaving, Derek turned on Stiles, letting his wolf fully to the surface. Derek expected fear, but what he got was Stiles' anger thrust upon him. With a wave of his hand, the broken pieces returned to their place as Derek was lifted into the air. He felt himself being forced back into his human form. It was painful, like fire burning through him as he screamed. "Don't do that again," Stiles said once Derek was back down on the ground. 

"If it weren't for you, my family would be alive-"

"If it weren't for me, you'd be dead," Stiles said, taking a step out from behind his counter. "Your sisters and you wouldn't have survived the fire."

"You knew," Derek said, his voice shaking as Stiles pursed his lips. "You knew about the fire." 

"Sometimes power is not worth the pain of knowing," Stiles admitted to him cryptically. "I couldn’t stop it, but I did save you."

"You didn't _save_ me. I live in hell," Derek spat at his feet. 

Stiles' eyes narrowed at Derek as he looked over him. Derek could feel the judgment as Stiles' eyes flicked to the worn patches in his jacket when compared to Stiles' own clothes that looked well worn, but refined. 

"I'm sorry about that," Stiles said as his eyes flicked to the door. It closed, leaving the shop silent, with only the sound of the two of them breathing to be heard. "There are always casualties." Derek's eyebrows quirked at Stiles' harsh words about his family. "What is past is past, Derek," he told Derek, putting a careful hand on Derek's shoulder. They were the same height, now, instead of the wizard towering over him. "It's time you look forward." 

"I can't do that," Derek said through clenched teeth. "Not when Cora is missing." Stiles' mouth twitched as he dropped his hand, going back behind the counter where Derek was unable to follow. His mind flickered to that night, of the line of ash that surrounded his family's house. 

"I can help you find her," Stiles said as he pulled out a book from beneath the counter. It was old, leather-bound, with yellowed pages and large calligraphic letters adorning each page as Stiles flipped through the book. 

"How?" Derek asked. Stiles smirked at him, the corner of his mouth lifting without a word. 

"Magic," Stiles answered. 

Derek lifted an eyebrow, unsure if he should trust the person he had hated for the past ten years. He wasn't completely sure that Stiles hadn't been the one that killed his family; there was no proof either way. 

"Why would you help me?" Derek asked. Stiles closed the book, his fingers tracing over an intricate design that covered the worn leather binding. 

"Because I didn't before," Stiles said, looking down at the book. "I could have, but I didn't. We all live with the choices we make, Derek. And this time I am choosing to interfere." 

"So you know who killed my family," Derek accused. "Tell me so I can kill them-"

"No," Stiles said, his voice firm. Derek could feel the magic igniting within Stiles, pushing outwards towards himself. He took a step back. "The time isn't right." 

"I don't care about timing-"

"You _should_ ," Stiles said as he opened the book once more, giving Derek a look before he flipped to a page. "I need a drop of your blood." 

"What? No," Derek said, holding his hand to his chest defensively. "Why?" 

"To find your sister, I need blood," Stiles said as he turned around to face what looked like a wooden tool box that had the same designs that covered the book carved on it. When Stiles turned back towards Derek, he was holding a small silver knife. Derek took another step back, to which Stiles sighed. "You want me to help you?" Stiles asked, the knife firmly in his hand as the other extended outward. 

"Yes, I do," Derek hissed as he walked forward and thrust his arm out over the counter for Stiles to take. Stiles' fingers were cool against Derek's skin as they held onto his wrist. 

"This won't hurt," Stiles said as he pricked Derek's finger so the blood swelled to the surface. Stiles discarded the knife, placing it on the counter as he grabbed a dropper bottle, taking the top of it to gather Derek's blood; he didn't take much. After he was done, Derek sucked on his finger until he felt it heal. He watched Stiles intently, unsure what was going to happen next. 

"I'll be right back," Stiles called out over his shoulder as he went into the back of the shop, the door slamming behind him. Derek couldn't get past the counter, and that angered him. He wanted to follow Stiles, to see what he was doing with his blood, but he couldn't. 

He could have just fallen for a trap by an evil wizard. Any powerful wizard could probably make themselves look like Stiles, could ask him for his blood under the guise of finding Cora. Derek felt his teeth elongating at the thought of being tricked.

Stiles reappeared with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, holding two small glasses that had a deep red liquid in it that Derek eyed warily. 

"Drink this," Stiles said as he set it down for Derek to take. 

"Why do I need to drink it?" Derek asked, looking at the small glass as if it could kill him, which could very well be true. 

"So you can see as well," Stiles said as he downed the entire glass in one gulp. He made a face, which didn't bode well for the taste. "It's got a bit of an aftertaste," Stiles added as Derek threw the glass back, drinking it. He gagged on it, because it tasted of blood, iron and thicker than he thought it would be. He didn't want to ask what else was in the concoction, didn't want to know what he just drank. When he was done, he realized what Stiles meant by the after taste. It wasn't like blood, it wasn't like anything he had ever tasted before in his life. It was dry, chalky, and made him want to cough. 

"Now what?" Derek asked. Stiles shrugged. 

"It might appear in a minute, maybe a day or two. Some magic takes time, depending."

"Depending?" Derek asked, his temper becoming short with the evasive tone that Stiles was taking. 

"Depending on if she is warded herself, how far she is, if she is being hidden by another wizard. Not everything is simple parlor tricks," Stiles said slamming the book shut. Derek jumped, swallowing back any sort of retort he might have had. 

"Why do you look the same as you did when I was a kid?" Derek asked. Stiles' back stiffened as he cleaned the knife before putting it back in its box. 

"I don't age," Stiles answered after a long, heavy pause. "That's the short story."

"What's the long one, then?" Derek asked. Stiles gave him an unamused look as he unrolled his sleeves. "I guess, thanks, for the magic concoction." 

"I owed it to you," Stiles said, his voice clipped. Derek was ready to leave, to get back to his shed, when Stiles came out from behind the counter. "When was the last time you had a warm meal?" Stiles asked. 

"What's it to you?" Derek asked, too stubborn to tell Stiles that it had been at least a week. Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek, his head tilting as if calculating. 

"I need help around the shop," Stiles said as he slipped his hands into his front pockets. "The pay is room and board, plus a silver a week." Derek's eye twitched. Stiles wanted him to work for him? At the shop? 

"I have no skill-"

"Did I ask for a skill?"

"Couldn't you just snap your fingers and it would be clean?" Derek said through clenched teeth. 

"Not if I want to pass out from over exert-" Stiles sighed, clearly frustrated as he didn't finish his sentence. "Do you want the job or not?" 

"I do," Derek found himself saying, despite the fact that he had been almost positive he was going to say no. 

"I’ll show you where you will be staying, then," Stiles said as he walked towards the door. Right outside the shop, there was a door. With stairs leading directly upwards, Derek followed Stiles into a furnished apartment over the shop. "This is yours."

"You mean, we're sharing," Derek said as he looked around. There was a kitchen, a bathroom, and two bedrooms with a small living space. 

"No, I mean this is yours. I don't live here. It comes with the shop, though." 

"I can't accept this," Derek said, knowing it was a charity. He wouldn't accept it. 

"The key is in your pocket," Stiles said as he walked back down the stairs. Begrudgingly, Derek shoved his hand into his pocket. Derek's hand clenched around a small key; he didn't need to take it out of his pocket to know that it would go to the door at the bottom of the stairs. He didn't know why he was so angry. This morning he didn't have a warm place to sleep in, didn't have the hope of a good meal, and didn't have an honest job. 

When Derek got back downstairs, Stiles had an apron on over his clothes, with his sleeves shoved up to his elbows once more. 

"I have to make your elixir," Stiles mumbled. "Tomorrow is the full moon-"

"I'm not taking it," Derek said. "I haven't since that night, I don't want to be that weak ever again."

"You have gone all these years without being noticed?" Stiles asked, his eyes wide. Derek nodded his head. He had kept to the woods during the full moons, so he could roam free, without the fear of being found. "Well, now you live in town. I want you to take it."

"I don't want-"

"It wasn't a request," Stiles said, as he opened the counter door. "Come back here, I want to show you everything." Derek complied without a word, despite how much he wanted to complain about taking the elixir. 

There was a workshop, full of even more vials and ingredients than the actual shop. 

"This is where I work," Stiles said. "In the mornings, you'll need me to let you behind the counter, because it is made out of a wood called mountain ash. You can't pass through it when the door is shut." All Derek could think about was his family, about the line of dust around his house that didn't allow him to pass through. 

"Do you have more of this mountain ash? Like in a powder form?" Derek asked. Stiles looked him dead in the eye and nodded. Derek's eyes flashed blue, but Stiles put his hand out, stopping him from changing further. 

"Every wizard has it," Stiles said plainly. "Do not blame me for another's doing." Stiles walked to the closed door, where had disappeared to earlier. "This door, you are never to go into. Understood?" Stiles asked. Derek looked the door up and down, seeing nothing special about it. If Stiles didn't want him back there, then he wouldn't go. 

"Fine," Derek said. "But I still don't know why you need me."

"Security," Stiles said with a wry smile. "Now, if you busy yourself, I am going to make some elixirs. I have clients coming soon." With that, Stiles disappeared into his workroom. 

"Am I allowed to go get my things? From my other... from where they are?" Derek asked, feeling like a child asking for permission. Stiles didn't answer him at first, because he was murmuring under his breath. When he did look over at Derek, his pupils were blown wide, and there was no emotion behind his voice at all. 

"Be back before sunset." 

Derek ran to the woods. He didn't have very much by the way of possessions, just the jar of money and some extra clothes. On the way back into town, he took his time as the sun crept lower in the sky. Part of him thought that he would return to the shop to find it empty once more, but he couldn't help but smile when he saw that lights on. The chime sounded when he walked back in, and Derek was surprised to find that Stiles wasn't alone in the shop. He was behind the counter, not looking like he had been back in his workshop in the slightest. He had on different clothes altogether, all of them newly pressed. The customers themselves didn’t pay any attention to Derek as he came forward.

He had dropped his things off upstairs, so he was empty handed. As Derek approached the counter, his back stiffened at the scent of the customers. He snarled, his lip lifting slightly as he caught a familiar aroma. Kate Argent’s perfume was distinct in his mind, and he would always recognize it. The Argents had taken him in when he was younger, for a short while, until he ran away. Seeing her in Stiles’ shop raised Derek’s hackles. He could feel his hair standing on end as he stopped in his tracks. She turned to look at him, with her perfectly curled hair and a narrow eyed smile. Wide-eyed, Derek took a step back. He hadn’t expected to see them again, let alone in Stiles’ shop. 

“I’ll have those to you tomorrow,” Stiles said, his eyes flicking between Derek and Kate. Derek felt a wave of magic wash over him, coating him. It was invisible, but it was there just the same. Within the blink of an eye, Kate looked as though she no longer recognized Derek, her smile becoming more genuine, less malicious. 

“I will send my daughter at first light,” Gerard said without even glancing twice at Derek as they walked out. Kate turned back to get one last look at him before she left though, her fingers holding onto the doorknob delicately before she shut it behind her. As soon as they were gone, Derek let out a breath he didn’t even know he had been holding. 

“What just happened?” Derek asked. “What did you do to me?” 

Stiles brushed his hands together as if wiping his hands clean, shrugging easily. 

“Your heartbeat told me all I needed to know about your past,” Stiles said, giving Derek a single look before he began straightening up the things around him. “I made you look different to them.”

“But-”

“Would you rather I didn’t?” Stiles asked. “Did you want to confront them?”

“Did you know they were coming?” Derek inquired. He felt as though he was forced to meet his past because of Stiles. 

“No,” Stiles said with pursed lips. 

“How can you know my past by my heartbeat?” Derek asked. He could hear peoples heartbeats as well, but wouldn’t be able to tell peoples past traumas by hearing it. Stiles frowned, shaking his head once in a non-answer. “How?” He asked once more, this time with more conviction. 

“Because I’ve been keeping an eye on you,” Stiles said through gritted teeth. “I know what she did to you,” Stiles admitted. Derek took a step back as if he had been slapped. The air around them thickened as Derek thought about Kate, her hands on him, her lips against his ear as she whispered about how good he would feel. Derek shut his eyes, trying to force the thoughts away. 

“Like I said before, I have decided to interfere.” 

“I don’t want your charity,” Derek said. “I don’t need it.”

“It isn’t charity,” Stiles told him, but he didn’t believe. “I want you to be happy.”

“Why do you care if I am happy or not?” Derek asked. “You were gone for ten years. You barely knew me. There is nothing tying you to me even now.” 

“You don’t know anything,” Stiles said as Derek turned to leave. He had enough of Stiles and his secrets. “You don’t know what I’ve done, or who I am.” 

“Then tell me,” Derek said. “Because I don’t understand why you are here, after all this time. You said you didn’t leave, but you were gone. This shop was empty.” Stiles nodded his head with agreement. 

“It was empty, but to me it wasn’t ten years. Time isn’t... a straight line. It weaves and circles around us, never ending. I was tethered here for a reason, and that night, I severed that tie because I thought I shouldn’t interfere. I was wrong.” Derek wasn’t sure just how powerful Stiles was, but what he was saying scared him a little. “I am trying to right it, even though I can’t.” 

“Why now?” Derek asked. 

“I can’t-” Stiles looked up at the ceiling, exasperated. “I need you as much as you need me.” 

“How can you need me?” Derek asked, not believing him. “I am nothing.”

“You are everything,” Stiles said, his voice firm. “You were always everything.”

“You need to explain this better because nothing about this is making any sense to me.” 

Stiles covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes wider than Derek had ever seen them. Like this, Stiles looked young, younger than Derek himself. But like Stiles said, he was old, he couldn’t age. Like there was a curse on him. 

“You’re cursed, aren’t you?” Derek asked. Stiles bit his lip, turning away from Derek. “But you can’t talk about it.”

“Something like that,” Stiles said as he cleared his throat. “I think it’s time we closed the shop for today. I have potions to make. Upstairs you’ll find a fully stocked kitchen. If you make us dinner, I’ll try to explain more, if I can.” Derek nodded solemnly, heading upstairs. He lit the lamps, filling his new home with light. Stiles was right about the kitchen being full of food. Derek ended up making a stew with what he could find, good for a cold evening such as the one they were having. 

Just when he was putting the stew into bowls, Stiles appeared at the door, knocking quietly. Derek let him in, even though it was really Stiles’ home and not his. They sat down and began eating. After Derek was done, he waited. 

“What you said before, downstairs-” Stiles began to say, but his voice cut off, as if he was unable to speak about it. Derek nodded his head, hoping that Stiles would do the same. He did, which made Derek breathe easier. Stiles’ secrecy wasn’t that he wanted to keep it from Derek, it was that he couldn’t talk about it. “I just can’t.”

“Okay,” Derek said as he cleared the table. 

“I’ve tried to get around it, but I can’t.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Derek said warmly. It was weird, knowing that that very morning he woke up alone, and now he had a home and Stiles. Stiles stood up, running his fingers through his hair. 

“Perhaps,” Stiles said with a sigh. “For now, let’s just get the shop stable.” 

“For you, how long were you gone?” Derek asked, wondering if Stiles could answer. Stiles’ mouth twitched. 

“Weeks,” he whispered. “If I leave again-” he cut himself off again, shaking his head out of frustration. “I won’t leave again.”

“Okay,” Derek said. 

That night, as he tried to fall asleep in the most comfortable bed he had ever been in, Derek couldn’t help but think of Laura. He wondered if he could see her, talk to her now that he had a place to live. Maybe he could get some clothes, look more presentable. He wondered if whatever concoction he drank earlier would work, that something would appear to help him find Cora. Derek hoped it would happen soon. 

When Derek woke up, a brand new pair of clothes were laying at the end of his bed. He didn’t question it, knowing that they were from Stiles. He washed up, then got dressed in his new clothes. He looked himself over in the mirror, unable to look away from his reflection. Downstairs, the shop was empty but unlocked. Derek was worried, until he saw that the door that had been locked in the past was slightly ajar. He didn’t think twice about it, knowing he couldn’t get behind the counter, so he went about straightening up. 

Then he realized the door to the counter was open as well. Derek wondered if Stiles had meant to leave it that way, if he wanted Derek to go back there. He went, heading straight for the door. As he stepped forward, he felt the air shift around him. With each step, it became harder to put one foot in front of the other. His hand felt heavier as it reached for the door handle, his body almost unable to move. The magic made him rethink entering but in the end didn’t dissuade him. 

As soon as Derek stepped foot over the threshold of the doorway, the thick air dissipated; he could breathe once more. There was a faint tingling feeling that washed across his skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Derek looked around to find a normal looking living space. It went back far, looked bigger than it possibly could be. Logistically, this space would be in the next shop’s groundplan. Stiles’ apartment couldn’t actually exist. Derek looked at the door, his fingers gliding along the door frame. It practically vibrated beneath his fingers; it was magic, obviously. 

When Derek took a step forward, the door shut behind him, echoing off of the walls. He looked around, to the unlit hearth, the table in the middle of the room full of unrolled scrolls and empty ink pots, books strewn about open and discarded. It was a mess, much unlike the shop itself. 

Derek stilled when he heard a creak in the floorboards above him; he wasn’t supposed to be here. A chill ran down his spine as he turned to leave. The sound of someone walking above him made him reach for the doorknob, but it wouldn’t turn. He shook it as he gritted his teeth, the footfalls echoing distinctly down a flight of stairs. The room lit up, a fire ignited as the sconces on the walls came to life with the snap of fingers, Stiles’ fingers. 

“I thought I heard you,” Stiles said, making Derek hunch over like a child with their hand caught in a cookie jar. “Well, since you’re here, you might as well stay.” Derek turned to find Stiles looking at him with a grim look on his face. “It’s safer in here,” he added. 

“Safer?” Derek asked as Stiles walked forward, looking Derek over inquisitorially. 

“How did you get in?” Stiles asked with his arms crossed. 

“It was open,” Derek supplied. 

“I had wards up,” Stiles pointed out. “You shouldn’t have- it doesn’t matter,” Stiles said as he looked at the fire. “It’s safer because those who hunt you can’t find this place.”

“This is the shop,” Derek said. “Right?” Stiles gave him a knowing smirk. “Is it not?”

“Not,” Stiles said vaguely. “This is my home, my sanctuary. No one but me should be able to come in here without my consent.” 

“I should go, then,” Derek stated. “Only the door is stuck.” Stiles eyes narrowed, his mouth twitched, and then he flicked his wrist; the door opened. “Oh.”

“We need to open the shop soon,” Stiles said, his voice guarded. Derek picked up on it, on the uptick of Stiles’ heartbeat, but he said nothing of it. He had trespassed into Stiles’ private quarters and Stiles had every right to be terse with him. “I’ll be out soon.” 

As soon as Derek stepped foot back into the shop, the door slammed shut. Stiles hadn’t been anywhere near the door when it happened. Magic made Derek uneasy, especially since Stiles didn’t even need to speak when he did it. It snuck up on him, and he couldn’t see it or smell it. Derek liked things he could touch, could sense. Everything Stiles did had Derek on edge. 

Still, he promised to help Derek find Cora, and Derek had to believe that Stiles would actually help him. The wizard had his parents’ trust, so now Derek had to also put his trust in Stiles’ hands. 

When Stiles emerged, he wore his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a leather apron around his neck, tied at the back. He handed one to Derek, only his was cloth. 

“For you, so you don’t ruin your new clothes,” Stiles said, his eyes barely falling on Derek as he handed it over. “I’ll be in my workshop. Stay behind the counter,” Stiles told him, shutting the counter door. Derek made sure he did what he was told that time. He helped reshelve vials in the back, until the door chimed. Stiles was the one to help the customer, though. By the third one of the day, Derek wondered what, exactly, Stiles was paying him for. 

“I told you,” Stiles said as he put the payment, two freshly baked pies, on the table in the back room, next to where Stiles was mixing ingredients. “For protection.”

“I think you can protect yourself,” Derek surmised. Stiles gave him a sardonic grin that fell away quickly. 

“Not entirely,” Stiles murmured, mostly to himself but Derek could hear him plain as day. Just then, as if on cue, the hair on the back of Derek’s neck stood on end, his nostrils flaring as the door chimed. Stiles moved towards the outer shop, but Derek moved a hand out, placing it on his chest, stopping him. 

“Stay,” Derek said, his eyes flashing in warning. Stiles didn’t move as Derek showed him his teeth. He now knew what Stiles needed protection from: other werewolves. Derek hadn’t come across many, or any for that matter, since his family’s death, but he could sense that whoever was in the shop was one. It took all of his self-control to keep himself fully human as he walked out into the shop. He had to remember that no wolf could cross over the mountain ash counter, that he was stuck on this side just as the wolf was stuck on the other. 

There, standing in the shop with cane in hand, was a gloved man, wearing darkened glasses and a grin on his face, his chin stuck out and turned up ever so slightly so that he could smell better. With him was a woman, her skin dark and hair sleek, her mouth set in almost a permanent frown. 

“I’m here for the wizard,” she said plainly.

“May I ask who is calling for him?” Derek asked as he felt the tension rising in the room. The air sparked around him, snapped as if there was some sort of static charge filling it. 

“Morrell,” she said with a sort of nonchalance that went well with a shrug. “And Deucalion.”

Derek hadn’t heard either name before, but as they stood before him, he knew that they were both powerful. He could feel it all the way to his bones. As if called, Stiles appeared by his side, the apron gone. With his jacket and gloves on, he brushed his arm against Derek’s. 

“Stiles, it has been too long,” she said with mock care. “You haven’t checked in.”

“Time seems to be flying by,” Stiles said caustically. Something about his tone had Derek’s attention. His eyes stayed on Morrell, watching her facial expression turn from faux empathy to impatience. She was a witch, the one that gave Stiles his curse. Derek almost growled at her, but Stiles’ hand on his arm stopped him. Whatever was going on between the two of them was on hold until Morrell and Deucalion were gone, but Derek couldn’t help but find Stiles’ touch to be calming. His body’s reaction was visceral, like it craved more. He was brought back to the present by the sound of Stiles’ voice. “Why are you really here?”

“Your payment is long overdue,” Morrell stated. “And your new protector will not save you if you cannot pay it in full.”

“I’ve already paid in full,” Stiles sneered. “Twice over. What more do you want from me?” Stiles’ heartbeat went from quick and erratic to sluggish and weak as soon as Morrell stepped closer, with her hand extended, her fingers curled in. 

Stiles stumbled forward, clutching at his heart as he gasped for air. Derek felt his body contorting as he shifted, showing his claws and fangs. Morrell didn’t flinch, neither did Deucalion, as Derek roared. He couldn’t jump over the counter, not with the door closed. Stiles blinked his watery eyes, and every single piece of glass in the room burst, flying towards the intruders. Then, Stiles collapsed to the ground as his breathing returned to normal. Derek bent over to check on him, but movement out of the corner of his eye stopped him. They were both unharmed, with a circle of glass shards in a pile around them. 

“Give me what I want, Stiles.” 

“Never,” Stiles said as he panted for breath, his hand wrapping around Derek’s wrist in order to get his attention. “It’s mine.” Stiles stood up and practically pushed Derek into the door that led to his private chambers. This time, there was no magic in the air stopping Derek as he twisted the door knob, except for Morrell, who screamed so loud that it sent both him and Stiles to their knees once inside the room. She lifted the counter door, releasing the mountain ash spell, allowing Deucalion to cross over. They were headed straight for him and Stiles, but as she approached the doorway, Stiles lifted a hand and slammed the door in her face. With a clenched fist, Stiles twisted his wrist, locking it. 

One moment, Derek could hear her screams, along with Deucalion’s growls as he clawed at the door. The next, there was silence except for two clicks as Stiles collapsed against the floor. Derek sat there, wide-eyed, as he stared at the door. Stiles was still, his breathing shallow as Derek looked around the quiet room. 

“What happened?” Derek asked as Stiles’ eyes opened, finally. 

“I moved us,” Stiles said, his voice hoarse as his limbs hung limply at his side. 

“Moved... us?” Derek asked. Stiles coughed, then tried to sit up. Derek was by his side, helping him. “What do you mean?”

“We’re no longer at the shop,” Stiles said. “Out of danger.”

“But, the shop-”

“Is empty once more,” Stiles said as he raked his fingers through his hair. “We have to keep track of the time, here,” Stiles told him as he looked at Derek. “Promise me you will.”

“I will,” Derek said, his brow furrowed. Unable to look away from Stiles’ lips, Derek licked his own as Stiles leaned against him. “Was she the one who cursed you?” Derek asked. Instead of answering, Stiles put his hand in Derek’s, and squeezed tight. “Now what?” Derek asked.

“Now, we rest,” Stiles said with a labored sigh. 

Resting included a warm bath for Stiles. Steam rose from the wooden tub as Stiles rested his head on the back of it, eyes closed. The bath was drawn in a room upstairs, the complete layout of the place was still unknown to Derek. The room itself was small, but packed full of things, as was most of the house, as Derek called it. With walls lined with shelves packed with books and knickknacks, Derek made himself comfortable on a chaise lounge in the corner of the room. He flipped through a few books before he landed on one, reading slowly since he hadn’t really had the chance since the fire. 

Derek thought it would be odd, him reading in a room with Stiles, who was naked and bathing, but it wasn’t. Something unspoken hung between them, not wanting to be separated for a moment after the run-in with Morrell and Deucalion. 

"What happens now?" Derek asked after a long silence between the two of them. With the shop closed off, he was suddenly the farthest he had ever been from his family's land. He wasn't sure where they were, actually. Stiles hinted that his real home, this place they were, could be moved by magic. That scared Derek, but he wasn't going to voice that out loud. 

"Now we wait," Stiles said as he cast a look towards Derek. "We have to keep track of time, here."

"Why is time different?" Derek asked. Stiles pursed his lips, then raked his teeth over them; it was obviously part of the very same curse. Stiles, who looked younger than he really was, who had a curse so complex that he couldn't even speak of it, was alone. It was like a smack in the face, the realization of it all. Stiles had no one. Looking around the house, at the collection of things, there was no indication that there was ever another person there alongside him. 

Derek broke from his thoughts as Stiles got out of the tub, grabbing a towel that hung just in reach of the tub itself. Instead of drying off, he simply wrapped it around his lean waist, a thin trail of dark hair shown on his stomach that led down beneath the cover of the towel. Derek averted his gaze, looking back down at his book in an attempt at going back to reading. Stiles left him there for awhile, only to return clothed. 

"Are you hungry?" Stiles asked. 

"I could eat," Derek answered, despite the fact that he was, in fact, starving. Still not used to eating regularly, Derek could probably eat his weight in meat before he would be fully satiated. Werewolves such as himself had fast metabolism, and burned energy quickly. Being underfed for so long, he had a long way to go before he would be at full strength. As Derek followed Stiles back down the stairs to watch him cook, he thought back to the street fights he used to partake in. It felt like a lifetime ago, even if it was only mere days ago. Derek thought about how much money he could have made if he had been at full strength. His healing would be faster, his muscles more toned. There were so many possibilities when one had a full stomach, Derek surmised. 

Derek figured Stiles used magic to make their food. Stiles seemed like the sort that would use it just to quicken the pace of a recipe or to add an ingredient. They ate in silence, which Derek thought would be the norm between the two of them based on how often they had conversed. Stiles seemed like he wanted to talk, but that he was mostly unable to. Derek caught him looking up, his mouth half poised for words to come out, only to then look down at his food and continue eating. Derek didn't mind the silence, since he too wasn't used to company. 

Stiles made a fire in the hearth after they ate. Derek sat on the floor, on a rug, with his book in his lap, elbows on his knees as his hands held up his head. Stiles sat nearby, at a table, as he pored over old books that were leather-bound with pages that looked too delicate to handle. 

It wasn’t until bedtime, when Derek could barely keep his eyes open any longer, that Stiles seemed to have a look of worry wash over him. 

“I only have one bed,” he realized aloud. Derek was just about to suggest the rug by the fire as a completely adequate bed when Stiles waved a hand at him. “It will be warmer if we share, anyway. I can feel the wind coming through the cracks in the windows. No matter how much magic you put on them, the wind is unstoppable this high in the mountains,” Stiles rambled as he walked up the stairs. When he was halfway up he glanced at Derek, his head tilting to the side, indicating that he wanted Derek to follow him. Derek scrambled to his feet, leaving the book behind, in order to follow Stiles up the creaking stairs. 

There was no fireplace in the bedroom, and as they entered, Derek realized what Stiles meant by needing their body heat. The bedroom had a massive stained glass window, a detailed story told through the picturesque glass. Though the moon was high and almost full, Derek couldn’t quite make out the details of the stained glass. Even with his enhanced sight in the dark, he’d have to wait until sunrise before he got a real look at it. 

Stiles’ bed wasn’t large, but it was big enough for two people to fit comfortably in it. Derek watched as Stiles stepped out of his pants. For a moment, he thought Stiles was going to get in bed half-naked, but then Stiles went over to an armoire, where he got out a pair of long johns, warm, close fitting pants made of wool. 

"Do you want a pair?" Stiles offered as he pulled them on. Derek felt a warmness settle deep in his groin as he watched Stiles pull them on. He shook his head as he cleared his throat. 

"I'll be alright," he supplied as he crawled into bed. The sheets were cool, helping the heat of his desire for Stiles settle down. He felt his skin flushing as Stiles climbed into bed next to him, his body heat slowly creeping its way towards Derek beneath the sheets. Derek's body tingled, and for a second he forgot that Stiles had magic. "What'd you do?" Derek asked, turning towards Stiles. The blankets felt warm already, despite the cool air surrounding them. 

"I made the sheets warmer," Stiles whispered beside him. He had his arms beneath his pillow as he lay on his stomach, his face turned towards Derek. "Just a little magic to keep us warm until our body heat warms the blankets." 

"Oh," Derek said as he shifted in place. He could hear Stiles breathing, could feel the rise and fall of his chest. He liked the feeling of sharing a bed. It wasn't a luxury he had ever had the privilege of having since the deaths of his family. When he was younger, he used to share with his siblings. 

Heartache overcame Derek, keeping him from sleep. Stiles was his only distraction. With his eyes closed and mouth slightly open, Derek watched Stiles sleep. Derek didn't know how long he watched Stiles, but he didn't think much of it until Stiles opened his eyes. They were closer together, their bodies touching. The warmth was intoxicating to Derek, wanting more contact. It would be so easy to just reach out and run his hand down Stiles' arm. 

"We shouldn't," Stiles said as he licked his lips. Derek couldn't look away from them as he did it, Stiles' own eyes on Derek's mouth. 

"Why not?" Derek asked, his voice low, deeper than it normally was due to sleepiness and arousal. He shifted again, hoping that Stiles didn't feel how much Derek wanted him. Stiles didn't answer Derek. Instead, he turned his body, draping a leg over Derek's own, his hand resting on Derek's side. Derek's back stiffened as he felt Stiles rub against him, just as heavy as he felt. He stifled a moan, keeping it trapped in his throat as Stiles' eyes narrowed. 

"Because nothing can come of it," Stiles rasped, his eyes searching Derek's in the moonlight. "Do you want pleasure now, only to have more pain later? Or would you rather me keep my distance?" 

"Pleasure," Derek admitted aloud. Stiles looked upset at Derek's answer, his mouth set in a frown as he leaned forward, capturing Derek’s lips with his own. Stiles' lips were soft, the softest thing Derek had ever felt against his own lips. He opened his mouth readily, letting Stiles' tongue in. Stiles gripped Derek's shirt tight as his own hand slid to Stiles' back, fingers raking down it until he cupped Stiles' ass, bringing him closer. Stiles moaned against Derek's open mouth, his cool fingers lifting Derek's shirt enough to touch bare skin. 

Derek wasn't sure he knew what Stiles meant that there would be pain later, but he didn't much care at the moment as Stiles' hand slid up his body. Derek applied pressure to his hand as he ground his hips against Stiles'. Never in his life did he feel the amount of sheer want that he felt in that moment. Everything about Stiles was mesmerizing, was a mystery and the mere taste of him was addicting. Around him, he felt the air seemingly lift. He felt like he didn't weigh a thing as he rolled Stiles onto his back. Stiles wrapped his legs around Derek as he lay on top of Stiles. Derek mouthed at Stiles' neck, marking it as he tugged at Stiles' pants, shoving his hands beneath the fabric. 

Stiles groaned, open-mouthed, into the darkness as he rid Derek of his shirt, his nimble fingers making quick work of Derek's buttons. As soon as it was gone, Stiles mouthed at Derek's bare skin, his hands running through the hair that covered Derek's chest until they reached the hem of Derek's pants, blocking their way to Derek's erection. Derek moved his hips against Stiles' hand, wanting more friction as they rutted against each other. Derek's hand mimicked Stiles', cupping him through the wool pants he wore. The outline of his erection was apparent through the fabric, making Derek's mouth water as his fingers traced the outline. Stiles was panting, his fingers tugging at Derek's zipper, his legs spreading as Derek's fingers slid between them, applying pressure to his ass. 

"I shouldn't want you like this," Stiles said, breaking their heated silence. "We should stop before it's too late." 

"Too late for what?" Derek asked, his head dipping down to mouth at Stiles' groin, his teeth raking delicately over Stiles' erection. Stiles squirmed beneath him, tugging at Derek's hair. 

"There are consequences to everything we do." 

"I don't see how," Derek said honestly as he hooked his fingers in the fabric of Stiles' pants, forcing them down far enough to free his dripping erection. Stiles gave in as Derek licked at him, taking his time before he took Stiles fully into his mouth. He tasted bitter on Derek's tongue, but still Derek wanted more. Stiles's legs spread further as Derek used one hand to hold the base of Stiles' cock and the other to slip a finger between his cheeks, teasing at his opening. Stiles' chest heaved as his back arched, his pants now by his knees as he shoved them down further with his hands. "Do you not want this?" Derek asked, his mouth wet from Stiles' cock. Stiles, with pupils blown, nodded his head as he rubbed his thumb across Derek's reddened, swollen lips. 

"I've wanted you for a long time," he whispered. Derek grinned down at him, not thinking about how long that could have been. Derek thought about his life before now, about how sex wasn't a thing derived from pleasure or want. It had been thrust upon him, used in a way that he believed himself incapable of want. Now, though, with Stiles spread before him, he knew he had just needed to wait until this moment. 

With his hand around Stiles’ cock, he thought about his own lonely nights in the shack, how his hands on Stiles felt nothing like how he gripped himself, willing his end to come faster than he wished for Stiles. Beneath him, Stiles rocked his hips against Derek's grip, wanting more friction, a faster pace. Derek stilled Stiles' movements by pinning him down, putting an arm over Stiles' hips as he took Stiles into his mouth once more. 

"Derek," Stiles said as his fingers carded through Derek's hair. Derek moaned as he looked up at Stiles through lidded eyes. Stiles licked his lips then tugged at Derek's hair, harshly. Blood pumped through his veins, straight down to his own erection. He groaned, his eyes rolling back at the feeling. He found something he yearned for. He wanted more. Stiles seemingly got the hint, his hands cupping Derek's face as he tried moving once more. This time Derek let Stiles guide his cock into his mouth, controlling the pace and depth. "I'm going to come," Stiles told him, his voice sounding distant, strained. 

Derek pulled back, his eyes closing as Stiles' come hit his face, covering his lips and open mouth. Stiles' fingers slid over his mess, smearing his come across Derek's mouth with his thumbs before pulling Derek up Stiles' body, their mouths meeting once more. Derek rocked against Stiles' spread legs, loving the feeling of his own cock pressed against Stiles' ass. 

"I can't- I need-" Derek began to say without knowing exactly what he wanted from Stiles, if anything. He wanted to come, he wanted his mark on Stiles. Instead of voicing his needs, he mouthed at Stiles' neck again, his tongue laving at the tender, reddened skin. Derek rubbed his stubble against it, Stiles' come as well, as he handled Stiles' ass, his fingers teasing at his opening. Stiles released a litany of noises, unable to hold back as Derek moved Stiles' arm, lifting it enough so that he could scent his underarm. 

Derek was so hard he was throbbing, precome soaking through the fabric of his pants as he rutted against Stiles as he licked up his arm, reveling in the smell of him, the feel of him. Stiles was so pliant beneath him, letting him take his time marking him the way he wanted, the way that his body begged him to. Instinct overtook him as he bit down on Stiles' neck, not enough to break the skin, but enough to mark him as he sucked and sucked. Stiles shook beneath him, rolling his hips as Derek's finger pressed inward, moving slightly. It was dry and couldn't go in, but by the way that Stiles moved, Derek knew he liked it. 

"Derek-" Stiles gulped, catching his breath. "Derek, let me get… oil," Stiles managed to get out. "I have it." Derek didn't want Stiles to move, he wanted him to stay exactly where he was. With a grunt, Derek managed to flip Stiles so that he was on his knees, his ass in the air. His scent was strong, and what Derek wanted was to lick and to claim. He wanted Stiles. "Derek, oil-"

Stiles' voice cut off when he felt Derek's tongue on his ass, his cheeks spread by Derek's hands. Derek lapped at him, his tongue delving inward, opening Stiles slowly. Stiles squirmed as his legs spread further, inching him closer to the bed. He opened up for Derek easily. Distracted, Derek jumped when he heard a distinct 'pop' noise beside him in bed along with the snap of Stiles' fingers. When he backed away from Stiles' ass, he saw a small vial of oil in Stiles' hand. 

"Oil," Stiles said. He was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his mouth hanging open as he panted. Derek took it from him, drizzling a little bit of it over Stiles' ass before pressing a finger inward. Stiles pushed himself first forward, away from Derek at the intrusion, but then came back full force as he began fucking himself on Derek's finger. 

"You feel so good," Stiles said, which had Derek reeling as he slipped another finger in. Stiles moaned as he reached behind himself, spreading his own cheeks so Derek wouldn't have to. Derek added more oil, unsure just how much was enough. He didn't want to hurt Stiles, wanted him to be ready for him. 

He still hadn't touched himself, and he wasn't positive he would last once inside of Stiles. When Stiles was ready, he got back on his back, wiggling his way down the bed, his legs wrapping around Derek once more as his deft fingers pushed Derek's pants down his thighs, revealing his heavy-hung, neglected cock. Stiles' fingers wrapped around it, stroking idly as he looked up at Derek. 

"Pour a little on you," Stiles said as his thumb teased at Derek's head. Derek did as he was told, then lined himself up, pressing his cock against Stiles' entrance. It slid in, albeit slowly at first. Once Derek was fully inside, he leaned on top of Stiles, his forehead against Stiles' as he began to move within him. "Yes," Stiles said, his breath hot on Derek's cheek as he fucked into him, his hands on Stiles' hips. His grip was firm, bruising as his pace quickened. Sex was never like this, with words of encouragement and desperate kisses. Derek shuddered as Stiles' lips found his own. He wanted this always, to be with Stiles, just like this. 

"I want you," Derek said, unable to think of any other words for how he felt. 

"You have me," Stiles said, his fingers running up and down Derek's back before stilling over his ass, holding Derek still inside of him. "You have me." Derek couldn't hold on any longer as Stiles' thighs tightened around him, his ankles locking together as Derek began moving once more. He came inside of him, filling him. Warmth washed over Derek as Stiles carded his fingers through Derek's hair once more, his lips placing chaste kisses across his nose, cheeks, and forehead. They were a mess, unmoving after Derek pulled out of him. At some point, Derek reached for Stiles' hand, linking their fingers together. 

When Derek woke up, it was light out. He sat up, unaware of what was going on. He looked at Stiles' sleeping form, clothed once more, then remembered their night together. Derek's eyes widened as he looked at the sheets, which should have been soiled by the two of them. They were spotless, and he didn't feel any tell tale signs of dried, stickiness anywhere on him. Stiles, too, looked to be clean. Derek wondered for, for a moment, if Stiles had used magic to clean them up before he fell asleep. 

Derek almost lay back down next to him when he saw it out of the corner of his eye: a shimmery red trail. His brows drew downward, confused for a moment before it dawned on him: it was Cora's trail. He turned towards Stiles, searching him for his own trail. Surely enough, down by the floor, Stiles' trail connected to Derek's, sending them both towards the same destination. Derek shook Stiles awake. 

"Stiles, there's a trail. The concoction worked!"

"Of course it worked," Stiles said groggily. "Wait, what?" He asked as he sat up, rubbing at his eyes sleepily. 

"The trail to lead us to Cora, it worked," Derek said as he got out of bed, righting his clothes as quickly as possible. "We have to follow it." 

"Hold on," Stiles said as he got out of bed. "We shouldn't just follow it blindly, we don't know know where it leads."

"I won't delay in finding her-"

"No," Stiles said, his voice firm, reminding Derek that he was the wizard, powerful and demanding. As demure and young as he looked, he was older, wiser, and knew of the like that could have taken Cora. Derek stilled, his jaw clenching. "We have to think before we act." 

"What do you suggest, then?" Derek asked. Stiles ran his fingers idly through his hair as he thought, his lips parted. Derek wanted to lick them once more, wanted to cover Stiles' body with his own again and again. There wasn't time for that, though. Cora could be in danger. 

"Let me gather supplies. Do not leave without me," Stiles said, his eyes narrowing as he walked past Derek, disappearing into another part of the house. At first, Derek was taken aback. He wouldn't leave without Stiles. But then unease crept into his mind, clawing at his subconscious as his eyes cast downwards, watching the shimmering trail before him. The trail made of his and Stiles' own blood, the true color showing through the whispering cloud. 

Blood magic was dark, a voice deep within him spoke. Only dark wizards dealt with such things, and only dark wizards would use mountain ash to trap a family inside a house as it burned to the ground. Derek knew it wasn't really Stiles, but the voice told him otherwise. Derek knew of no other wizards with such powers as Stiles, sans Morrell who had come for him the day before. 

Derek wasn't sure he wanted a wizard whose very speech could twist minds. He wondered if Stiles had wordsmithed him, had put a spell over him at all. Derek's face darkened as he let the voice of doubt cloud his thinking. He made his way down the stairs of the house, being as quiet as possible. He grabbed a cloak off of a rack beside the door, then turned the lock. Instead of the door leading into the wizard's shop, it opened up to a busy street in town that Derek didn't recognize.

As he shut the door behind him, he looked the building over. It was another wizard shop, only different than the one he knew. With blackened windows, some broken, and an old faded sign, Derek knew that Stiles had been here, had used this place the same as the other. Derek wondered as he walked away, just how many facades Stiles used to keep himself hidden. 

The trail hung loosely in the air just above his ankle as he walked. It was as if red glitter floated and moved leading his way. He didn't think as he followed it through town, heading towards the outskirts of the town he was in. Like his own town, it had cobblestone streets, uneven with stones missing from their age. The sun was bright, high in the sky even though the air was cold and brittle. 

It wasn't until the buildings became sparse that Derek remembered that Stiles had said they were in the mountains. He stopped dead in his tracks, looking around him, past the buildings to his surroundings. He saw no mountains, only flat land. His mind flashed to the lock on the door, the key. Derek didn't like magic, he decided. He would rather do without it. 

It wasn't until Derek was well out of town, with the sun setting behind him, that he stopped. His legs ached, his fingers and nose were numb from the cold, and he hadn't eaten. The trail before him was his only companion and he longed for the fire, for Stiles' bed, the warmth from his own body. 

With his mind's fog lifted, Derek didn't understand why he had left Stiles behind. It wasn't logical, not after what had transpired between the two of them. It was too late to turn back now. He wouldn't keep Cora waiting for him, despite his unease at going on alone. By the time the moon rose and Derek felt its pull, he realized what night it was. The full moon would be upon him soon enough, his moon form would come whether he wanted it to or not. One thing he knew for sure: he was glad Stiles hadn't had the time to make him the elixir. Derek didn't want to think about how he wouldn't survive against anyone if he had taken it. 

As he walked forward, willing his body to continue, he felt the pull of the moon overtake him. His face contorted as claws replaced nails, his teeth elongated, his shoulders widened as his mind clouded once more. This time, though, pure instinct took over. His senses heightened, he cared not for the trail before him but instead ran off into the woods on either side of him. He could smell her, his little sister. She was nearby, his senses told him. She, too, would be under the moon's trance. In the distance he heard it, a howl.

Derek hadn't heard the howl of another in his pack since he was small. The very sound of it had him answering within seconds. He rushed forward, answering to her every cry. Through brush and dirtied snow he ran until suddenly he was there. Cora's form, a mere shadow in the moonlight against the trees, was seen. His eyes flashed a brilliant blue at the sight of her. She rushed forward towards him, and he to her, until they both stilled, unable to move any farther. Derek looked down to see the very same dust that trapped his family before him. 

He looked up, unable to coherently know what was happening as Morrell appeared, the mountain ash in her hand, closing off a circle that he had walked into unknowingly. Cora, too, was closed off, unable to get out of the invisible barrier. 

"Two werewolves," Morrell said, turning towards a hooded figure. Derek's nostrils flared as he recognized the scent of Argent. "I knew he'd leave the wizard, his mind was easy to get into." Derek growled, baring his teeth at the two of them. He knew he had been spelled. If only he hadn’t believed that it was Stiles who had done it to him. "This way, we can defeat the spoiled brat of a wizard." 

"Finally," Argent said as he stepped forward, looking Derek over. "If I had known when I had this monster under my house what I know now, then this would have been over with long before now."

"It's hard to know the wizard's thoughts," Morrell said with a long suffering sigh. "Even now, he may not come for the wolf." 

"He'll come," Argent said, taking a step closer to Derek. Derek was panting, his teeth gritting as he felt the urge to maim, to slash and to kill. Argent, who took him in when he was younger, whose daughter used him for her own pleasure, who then threw him out into the streets to starve. Argent, who kidnapped his sister. Derek wanted to bite him, to slash his throat. He deserved it, and Derek's bloodlust only grew at the mention of them luring Stiles into this trap. 

"Then I will cut out his heart," Morrell said with a sneer. "It will finally be mine." Through the fog of his bloodlust, something triggered within Derek. Stiles' heart, his curse that Morrell put on him. She needed his heart, it was the one thing he wouldn't hand over to her. Derek's gaze fell on her, on the glowing necklace she wore around her neck. He would kill her, too. He would free Stiles from his curse. 

"My heart will never be yours," Stiles said nonchalantly as he walked out from behind the forest line that surrounded them. His face, cast in shadow, looked grim. With his hands in his pockets he walked forward. "Where's your dog?" Stiles asked with a tilt of his head. "Surely he's here somewhere." 

"You dare to come here with such cheek," Morrell said, the air crackling around her. 

"I dare," Stiles said, looking her dead in the eye. 

"What happened to the coward who moved from place to place?" Morrell asked. Stiles looked to Derek in answer, then back to Morrell. 

"You'll find your pet at the bottom of the ravine," Stiles said with a sigh. “He tried to intercept me, but he was no match without you by his side.” Stiles' deadly gaze fell to Argent, then, his lips caught in a sneer. "And you, who came into my shop for my help, are a traitor. I do not like traitors." 

"I'm a businessman," Argent supplied easily. "I came to you for business."

"And this?' Stiles asked, his hand moving across the two circles of mountain ash. Derek felt it the moment that the circles were breached, that the spell broke. "What business do you have collecting werewolves?" 

"These are for you," Morrell said. "Used in a spell to retrieve what belongs to me." 

"I think not," Stiles said. Derek growled, then took off, stepping outside the circle easily. Cora, too, began to follow suit. Derek zoned in on Argent, ready to kill, but was stopped by Morrell. With a raise of her hands, she stilled both Derek and Cora. 

"I think so, young wizard." 

"I'm not so young, now," Stiles said as his magic solidified around him, the gold shimmering dust took to the air, spiraling around him. 

"You haven't kept up your side of our bargain, it is time for me to collect the full payment of your selfishness." 

"I have done nothing more than any wizard would when faced with such a dilemma," Stiles said as he lifted his chin. "I have paid my dues." Derek fell to his knees as the feeling of sharp knives hit him over and over. Two magics fought within him, both Morrell's and Stiles' as they fought over dominance. Derek and Cora both roared in pain and anger. "Free them." 

"Never," Morrell said. "Either you let them go, or they die and you lose yet another you care for. Your curse will remain intact. You will watch all that you care for die before your eyes." 

"I've had enough of curses," Stiles said as he lifted his arms into the air. "And of you denying me a life I deserve." Derek felt the silent boom deep within his bones as he was knocked to his feet. It was as though thunder rumbled without sound, that the earth quaked beneath his feet, the winds swept everyone off their feet, leaving only Stiles standing before them. Even Morrell was on the ground at Stiles' feet. "I should be after your heart instead," he said, his hand extending out towards her chest. For a moment, Derek's mind was clear. It was short-lived, though, as Morrell snapped her fingers, breaking something within his mind. 

He launched himself towards Stiles, pinning him to the ground, with Cora reacting just the same. Derek held him down, his teeth snapping as he drew blood along Stiles' wrists where he had him pinned. Stiles' eyes flashed red as he screamed beneath him. Cora withdrew, whimpering at the sound. Derek held on, the moon keeping its hold on him. 

"Derek," Stiles begged, sounding unlike himself. "Fight it." Derek growled at him as Stiles fought back to no avail. 

"Take out his heart," Morrell told Derek. Holding Stiles down with one hand, his claws digging in deeper, Derek used his free hand to slit open Stiles' shirt, exposing his skin. He was covered in Derek's markings, the smell of the two of them perforated through the air, hitting Derek with the scent of them. Derek panted as he stared down at Stiles, his clawed hand in the air. "He's mine," she called out. Derek's claws retracted as his he placed his hand on Stiles' collarbone, fingers tracing over the bruises his mouth left the night before. 

"He's not yours," Derek said as his fangs retracted. Stiles smirked beneath Derek, his cutting gaze knocking Morrell to her feet once more. The blood from Stiles' wrists lifted into the air, mixing with his gold magic, amplifying his power. 

"I belong to no one," Stiles said as Derek got off of him. He stood, his arms lifting. "And you no longer exist." Stiles' magic formed daggers, then shot straight towards not only Morrell, but Argent as well, ending their lives almost immediately. 

Derek got to his feet, his eyes wide in surprise. He went over to their unmoving forms, checking them for any signs of life. The daggers were gone, disappearing on the back of the wind. Cora sat nearby, looking her hands over as the moon faded behind the trees. Derek was about to run to her when Stiles faltered, his body swaying before he fell to the ground in a heap. Derek ran to him, holding his limp body in his arms. 

"Stiles," Derek called out, tapping Stiles' face with his hand lightly in an attempt to rouse him. "Stiles, wake up." Stiles remained completely still as Derek began to panic.

"Is he dead?" Cora asked. It was the first time that Derek had heard her voice in years and he couldn't even revel in it because he was too worried that he had just lost his wizard forever. 

"No," Derek whispered as he rocked back and forth. "He can't be, not after everything."

They sat there in silence, waiting for something to happen, anything. Derek rested his forehead against Stiles', his hands rubbing up and down his arms to keep him warm in the bitter cold that surrounded them. Cora too, huddled nearby. Derek looked to the stars above them, his eyes watering as he thought about how little time they had together, how Stiles gave his life to get Cora back to him. As Derek slid his hand over Stiles' heart, he felt it beating faintly. Stiles was not yet dead. 

"You're free," Derek said through trembling lips. "You are no longer cursed, Stiles." He ran his fingers over Stiles' bare chest from mole to mole, from mark to mark then back to his heart again and again until the color returned to Stiles' cheeks. 

"Derek," Stiles said as his eyes fluttered open. "You," he said. 

"Me?" Derek asked. Stiles nodded his head, his hand coming up to Derek's heart. 

"You had it," Stiles told him. Derek drew his brow as he clasped his hand around Stiles' bloodied one. "You had my heart." 

"Impossible," Derek said as he looked down at him. "I would have known." 

"I hid it far from Morrell," Stiles said as he winced. "Having it back now is a heavy burden," Stiles admitted as he put his other hand over his heart. 

"Do not leave me again," Derek urged him, then looked to Cora. "Either of you."

"I won't," Cora assured him. Stiles, too, nodded his head as Derek bent down, capturing his lips. Stiles' magic ignited around them in a burst of light, sparkling and bright. Derek had to shield his eyes as the air around them crackled and hissed. 

Once the darkness returned, Derek saw that Stiles was still Stiles, that he wasn't suddenly older. He looked just the same, unmarred by Derek's claws, looking more alive than ever in Derek's arms.

"I'm not going anywhere," Stiles assured him. Derek knew that Stiles was telling him the truth.


End file.
